A Writer and her Muse
by definitely-always
Summary: Prompt: "Bering and Wells as Caskett (from Castle)"


**PROMPT**: "Bering and Wells as Caskett"  
**Rating**: K+  
**Word Count**: 1,067  
**Disclaimer**: Myka Bering, Helena Wells, and Christina Wells belong to Jack Kenny, et. al., and the Castle story line belongs to Andrew Marlow, et. al. I own nothing.  
**A/N**: I know that there's a similar, full-length, on-going fic out there already (titled "The Shape of Things to Come"). You should all read it; it's fabulous! But here's my own spin on it, since someone requested it from me. :) Set during the S1 timeline of Castle.

* * *

"Wells!" Myka snapped in frustration. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" She stared in disbelief as the writer slash bane of her current existence produced a Kevlar vest similar to her own. Only instead of "POLICE" on the back, it said "WRITER."

"You don't want me to get shot, do you?" the Englishwoman said as she began to secure the vest onto her person.

Myka reached out, stopping Helena's hands. "You're not going to get shot because you are not going inside. Don't make me cuff you to my car again. This time I know where you keep that key."

Helena scoffed. "As if there aren't other ways I can get out of your handcuffs," she practically purred. "I'd be more than happy to give you a demonstration sometime." She batted her eyelashes and moved in close to the taller woman.

Myka chose to ignore her. "Stay," she said, pointing a commanding finger at the smaller woman, then turned to secure her own vest and lead her team into the apartment of the dangerous criminal.

Helena just smiled and followed the armed police officers.

* * *

"You could have gotten yourself killed!" Myka yelled in frustration again. "You could have gotten one of us killed!" She gripped the steering wheel of her cruiser so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. "When I tell you to stay, I'm not trying to punish you." Well, maybe she was a little, but Helena didn't need to know that. "This isn't one of your books. You can't just rewrite the ending."

"Really, darling, I think you're overreacting," Helena attempted to smooth. "No one got hurt and I even helped identify the vehicle the punk is driving."

Myka snorted. "A dark colored SUV with New York plates. Oh, yes, very helpful, Wells. What if one of my men had died because of your phone going off and giving away our position, huh? Do you really want that on my conscious?"

Helena looked over at Myka Bering and really studied her. And suddenly, she realized why the woman was so upset this time. "Bering, it wouldn't have been your fault; it would have been mine."

Myka glanced over quickly, then returned her gaze to the road in front of her, shaking her head. "You don't get it, do you? I'm the lead investigator. I'm responsible for your actions, as insane as that thought is. If something happens to one of my guys during a raid and it's your fault, I get called to the chopping block and it's my badge at stake. So please, just do me a favor and sit there and shut up so I can figure out how to keep you from doing something stupid next time."

Helena had the good sense to do as Myka asked for once. She could tell that the woman was honestly perturbed and upset, not just annoyed as she usually was. Dammit, she'd really screwed up this time.

* * *

It was past midnight when Myka walked out of the elevator in her apartment building later that evening, fiddling with her key ring to find her apartment key as she made her way down the hall. She didn't even see the figure sitting outside her door until she nearly tripped over the pair of legs.

She jumped slightly and opened her mouth to yell at Helena in annoyance, but she stopped when she noticed the woman was asleep, breathing steady and deep, mouth slightly opened as the most adorable mewling sounds came from her. Myka caught herself beginning to smile, but she shook her head quickly and steeled herself, putting on her annoyed mask.

She used her foot, clad in the four inch heeled ankle boot, to tap against the author's own foot. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty, wake up," she said roughly.

Helena jolted awake, momentarily confused by her surroundings until her gaze landed on the woman in front of her. Myka Bering was already tall and intimidating, but add the four inch heels and the fact that Helena was currently seated on the floor looking up at her, she was downright scary. Especially with her fists planted on her hips and that look of annoyance on her face.

"Oh, detective! Good, you're home." Helena scrambled to stand.

"What are you doing here, Wells? How did you even figure out where I live anyway?"

"I have connections," Helena answered with a dismissive wave of her hand. "As for why I'm here… Here," she held out the bouquet of flowers—white lilies—that Myka hadn't noticed before. "This is me apologizing for my actions earlier today."

Myka was dumbstruck. "_You're apologizing_?" she asked incredulously. "You never apologize."

"Correction," Helena interjected. "I never apologize for being curious. I do apologize when I inadvertently endanger the lives of others. I crossed a line today and I'm sorry." She pressed the flowers towards Myka.

Myka gripped the stems carefully. How did the woman know that lilies were her favorite, anyway? "How did you become so wise all of a sudden?"

"Christina," Helena said matter-of-factly.

"Ah," Myka said at the mention of Helena's wise-beyond-her-years daughter. "Makes sense. Were you planning on sitting out here all night?"

Helena shrugged. "Just wanted to make sure you got my peace offering."

Myka sighed and stepped forward, sliding her key into the door and pushing it open. "Well, thank you. Just, try to not get in my way, okay?"

"Detective Bering, is that your way of saying that you don't mind having me shadow you?" Helena asked as she followed the detective into her apartment without an invitation, shutting the door behind her.

Myka snorted. "Shadow? More like stalk," she murmured.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Myka replied. "Let's just say that I'm slowly getting used to you pulling my pigtails, okay?"

"Does that mean you'll let me accompany you on raids from now on?"

Myka steeled her with a pointed look. "Don't push it."

Helena grinned and reached into her large handbag. "Even if I share this forty year old bottle of Pinot Noir?"

Myka studied the writer carefully, looking longingly at the bottle of her favorite wine—again, how did she _know_ that?!—and biting her bottom lip in contemplation.

"We'll talk," was all Myka said before grabbing the wine.

Myka's back was turned to retrieve two wineglasses, so she missed the smug look on the writer's face. She was in.


End file.
